


A Timeline of Us

by SaturnsBarz



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Calm Before The Storm, M/M, au - not dead, boyd is not a psycho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-04-24 10:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaturnsBarz/pseuds/SaturnsBarz
Summary: That night would buzz in the back of Ned's mind for years to come but not for any of the reasons he had assumed.How Ned stole George Clooney's 2006 best supporting actor Oscar.How Boyd tried to cheer Ned up





	1. And the Academy Award Goes to...

**Author's Note:**

> For Moschicane week, will update a chapter per day.  
> Day 1: Costumes/Disguises  
> Disclaimer: Takes place in a world where they are both still alive, worked things out with Aubrey, and are living out the rest of their lives together in calm, quiet bliss. Let my crime dads be HAPPY.  
> beta: @candy-pop, got this message from them while editing "MARSH THSI IS NASTY"

“What’s your name, handsome?” 

A woman had latched herself onto my arm, I hadn’t even seen her coming. She was tall, slim, and wearing the red dress from Pretty Woman, a classic. A woman of taste.

“The name is Octavius Crenshaw, I’m one of Mr. Clooney’s benefactors.” For the costume gala I had chosen something simple, something understated -- Gene Wilder’s Victor Frankenstein.

“Are you alone tonight?” She pressed her chest up against my arm, very clearly taken by my devastating good looks. “I’m feeling oh so lonely.”

“I’m afraid he’s mine for the evening.” 

Boyd effortlessly took hold of me and extricated me from the woman’s grip. “Come on luv, that’s enough playing around.” He placed his hand on the small of my back, pulling me close. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have social obligations to fulfill.” He flashed that ever charming, albeit crooked, smile and dragged me along with him until we were out of the woman’s sightline. 

Then he turned to me with a scowl, “Do you think we have time to fuck around, ‘Octavius Crenshaw’?”

“I thought it was a good name,” I retorted, indignant.

“Not the name, Ned, the woman!” He goes to run his fingers through his hair, but the generous amount of gel kept it in place.

“I can’t help it!” I grinned, “Women are drawn to me like flies to honey.”

“I’d liken it more to a fly to garbage.” 

Boyd Mosche, my partner in crime, my partner in life, the only man I can count on in this world and the next, had just called me garbage.  Everything sounded so damn good coming from his mouth, though, so I decided I’d let it slide for the night. 

Boyd didn’t particularly want to be there in the first place, this one had been  _ all _ me. 

Clooney didn’t deserve that Oscar, and I was going to take it from him. Syriana was an average film, and Brokeback Mountain was art! Jake Gyllenhaal was so compelling, how had he not won best supporting actor? It was as if the academy hadn’t even watched the films! 

So Boyd had begrudgingly agreed to tag along. I’d even gotten him to come in costume, because who shows up to a costume party without a costume? He was Bond -- James Bond. Roger Moore, of course, because Boyd and Moore are the same kind of handsome. 

“We could have had this job done in half an hour, why are you still mingling?” While my mind was elsewhere, Boyd had leaned in to speak directly into my ear, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stick up and fought back a shiver that wanted to creep up my spine.

“Patience, my dear. I work smarter, not harder.” I gave him a pat on the back and went back to my mingling. Building up an alibi always helped, plus I wanted to eat as much of Clooney’s fancy, free food as possible.

Twenty minutes later Clooney had finally made his appearance, descending the grand stairway with some piece of arm candy, waving and soaking up all the cheering and clapping from his party-goers. What a prick. 

However, now was the time to strike. 

I took hold of Boyd by his tie, pulling him through the crowd. He should wear a tie more often. Not only was it an attractive piece of clothing, it could also be used as a leash when necessary. 

I had been scoping this place out for months, I’d even done a dry run of possible escape routes. I knew exactly where Clooney would be keeping the Oscar before showing it off. 

We had maybe fifteen minutes to get in, get out, and get back to the party.

Exiting through the back into the estate’s vast garden -- which I was certain Clooney never give the time of day -- we rounded the house to the side with the pool, where I had found a patch of Boston Ivy that grew up the wall of the house and had been reinforced with a wooden frame. The frame held my weight, but I wasn’t so sure about Boyd. He was all muscle. 

I climbed the frame with ease and used my tools to pop the latch on the window. We were in. 

Boyd climbing up made me ever so nervous, the wood creaked and threatened to give way with ever step, but he made it up in one piece. Exiting the en-suite we’d dropped into, we entered Clooney’s bedroom, where the Oscar was being kept until it was time to wave it around to the masses. There was only one guard present, and he had been stationed outside the door, so we were basically home free. 

I donned a pair of yellow rubber gloves, to match the costume, and snatched the statue just like that. Now all we needed to do was get out, stash it, and come get it after everything had calmed down.

The climb down was difficult for many reasons. The wooden frame was making all kinds of god-awful noises, also I was holding onto a metal statue for dear life. 

When my feet met the ground I breathed a deep sigh of relief before looking up to find Boyd was not in the window. 

I took some steps back and couldn’t see him at all. 

Shit, I didn’t have time for this. 

I hurried to the spot I had chosen to stash the award while everyone was going crazy trying to find it. It was on the other side of the exterior fence, in an unkempt shrub. 

After situating everything just right, I went back to the window. Boyd had tossed two bags full of stuff down to the ground below and was descending with a third.

“What’s all this?!” I hissed, gesturing to the duffle bags of what I could only assume were stolen valuables.

“You got to have your fun, poppet, I’m having mine. Did you think I would enter the home of George Clooney and not steal anything?” Boyd quipped.

“Where are we gonna…? What could you have…?” I stuttered, “Find a place to stash this, quick, before you get us both caught, half wit!” 

I watched as Boyd grabbed all three bags effortlessly with one arm and moved to throw them over the fence around the same area as the statue and our car. 

“Let’s get back in there before they notice we’re gone.”

As we rounded the corner close to the little white gazebo in the back, I heard them. Heavy footsteps and loud yelling. I turned and saw flashlights dotting the yard.

Shit.

They’d noticed.

God damn it, Boyd.

I turned to him and saw him crack his knuckles before placing his hand on the pistol holstered at his hip, and I panicked. This was supposed to be an easy job, no one needed to get hurt. Every possible outcome rolled through my head and they all included Boyd dying. We couldn’t have that.

What to do.

What to do.

What to do.

How do you make two grown men so far from the party look inconspicuous? 

The voices were getting too close for comfort, and my body moved on its own.

I grabbed Boyd by the tie and tugged. He removed his hand from the gun and started to throw out insults as I yanked him into the gazebo. 

Just before any of the flashlights landed on us, I pulled Boyd down by the tie and crushed our lips together. 

It was rough, and hard, and desperate. Hopefully it would look like we’d been at this a while. 

Time seems to slow to almost a snail’s pace as I assume Boyd realized what I was up to and turned it into a rather sloppy make out session. Boyd easily overpowered me and I feel a hand snake up into my hair and take a fistful of it. I hadn’t been kissed like this in so long, my mind came dangerously close to going completely blank from the feeling of being completely and utterly dominated.

My eyes were closed, but as flashlight beamed at us and I pulled away, shocked, and looked to see three guards staring at us. I had been moved up against one of the walls and half my coat buttons were undone. Boyd slowly looked over his shoulder at the three men who stood there silently.

“Can I _help_ you?” Boyd spat out, and I couldn’t stop the shiver that went down my spine this time, something about his voice affected me so deeply.

“Oh, uh, no, um, yes? Have you seen anything suspicious?” One of the guards finally spoke up, clearly frazzled.

“Other than three blokes shining flashlights on me and my date, I’d say no.” 

I could almost feel the disdain dripping from Boyd’s words as he spit them out at the guards. They collectively muttered apologies and left us alone. Before they were even out of earshot, Boyd leaned down into my ear to whisper, “You’re quick on your toes, darling, love that about you.”


	2. Nothing But the Road Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boyd had nicked something from Clooney that will have them living in luxury for the next few months, he wants to celebrate. But Ned isn't himself. Boyd wants to live it up but they have a lot of driving to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Moschicane week:  
> Day 2: Road Trip/Travel  
> Disclaimer: Takes place in a world where they are both still alive, worked things out with Aubrey, and are living out the rest of their lives together in calm, quiet bliss. Let my crime dads be HAPPY.  
> I've moved on from denial to angry so I'd like to say a big FUCK YOU to Griffin McElroy for episodes 26-29 of Amnesty.  
> I got really sicky day two so I didn't write for two days so I'm scrambling to get caught up with this. A chapter a day is wack when you work a full time job and are sick.  
> beta: @candy-pop, big thanks to them.

Ned had been much too quiet the past four days.

We’d done it, we’d stolen Clooney’s Oscar. We’d made it out in one piece, and had even managed to swipe some loot from the joint -- enough for us to be living the high life for the next few months. I was sure this job was too big for the two of us to handle, but there we were, driving back into the states $15,000 richer.

We had to lay low for at least twenty-four hours, it wasn’t every day an Oscar gets stolen. We even made the news. I was sure Ned would be so excited, that it would be all he wanted to talk about, but he’d barely spoken two words to me or even so much as looked at the damn statue.

We -- and by we, I mean I -- decided to unload the goods to a contact of mine in Mexico City, didn’t want the risk of anything being traced back to us. I hadn’t really looked while I was filling the bags,  just grabbed whatever I thought looked valuable. Movie scripts, bottles of cologne, some fancy glassware, alcohol, but the real money maker was a bottle of wine I had swiped for Ned and I to celebrate with. We didn’t end up drinking that night, something about Ned being tired and going right to bed, so I just downed some unmarked whiskey from a crystal decanter. 

The wine that we nearly pissed away was worth 10,000 alone.

I had suggested we get a room at the Four Seasons and live like kings here in the city, but Ned insisted on going back to the states. It was really the only thing he’d insisted on in the past few days, and it was really starting to piss me off.

It was a 12-hour trip back to the states alone, and in the past seven hours Ned had only muttered something about changing the radio station four hours ago. I was getting a little lonely. 

I pulled one of our many maps from the glove compartment.

“Ned, luv, why don’t we have a little fun?” I watched Ned freeze up, his entire back straightened and he became hyper fixated on the road.

“What do you mean?” His voice came out meek, nothing like my Ned. He was so nervous, so tense. He was alone with me, why the fuck would he be so nervous?

“Well you see darling, since you didn’t want to do Mexico City, I would like to propose Vegas as an alternative. Let’s go live it up, I think we deserve it.”

“I don’t know Mosche, I’m just so tired. We should just stay in some crappy hotel and call it a night soon.”

“Ned, dear, are you not proud of me? Because I’m fairly proud of myself. It’s not every day we nick a 10,000 bottle of wine.”

“No, no, I am proud, and infinitely humbled to have you as a partner. I’m just not myself.”

“Why not?”

“Pardon?”

“Why are you not yourself?” That came out rather pointed. I couldn’t help it, I was a little pissed.

“Oh, I don’t know-”

“No, I won’t accept that,” I interrupted him. “I think you know the exact reason; you just don’t want to tell me. Which honestly pisses me off much more than this little song and dance you’ve been doing the last few days.”

“Mosche, calm down. This is me we’re talking about.”

“No, it’s not!” I slammed my fist into the dashboard in front of me and it was enough to finally get Ned to glance my way. “This isn’t you, not my Ned.”

Minutes passed in uncomfortable silence yet again. The throbbing in my hand had all but subsided, and now that I’d had a moment to think about it, I might have been a touch too rash in my confrontation. Ned never responded well to anger, and I doubted any of that did anything but make him more distant.

“Pull over, Ned.” This time, when I spoke, I made a great effort to do so calmly.

“But-”

“No buts, this is important.” He gave in, pulling to the side of the motorway. It was two in the morning and we hadn’t seen another car in miles, so I doubted we’d be disturbed.

I exited the car as soon as Ned turned it off and Ned followed. I gestured for him to come around to the passenger side, and he obeyed.

“Alright, hit me.”

“What?” He sounded genuinely taken aback.

“Hit me, I know you’re mad at me so get it all out, right here, right now, then go back to being normal.” I shrugged off my denim jacket and threw it to the roof of the car. “Just don’t break my nose again.”

“Oh, come on, that was one time!” Ned laughed out loud, god it was so fucking good to hear his laugh. I wanted to see him smile.

“See, there’s my Ned. Come on then, pop me right here.” I patted my right cheek a few times and leaned down to Ned’s level. He was probably only 180cm, had to make up that 13cm difference somehow.

“I’m  **not** going to hit you Mosche. You know I’m a pacifist.”

“See, you did it again.”

“Did what?”

“Called me Mosche, you only call me Mosche when you’re mad at me.”

“I do not.”

“It’s like how I call you Edmund when I’m teasing you, or Chicane when you’ve pissed me off.”

“So, you’re not mad at me?” I wanted to see the face he was making right now more than anything, but it was too dark to make out his features at this distance. He sounded so relieved. 

“Well I really should be, but I’m more worried than anything.” 

I looked to my feet, kicking at the dirt. All this mushy feeling hoopla was not in my repertoire. 

“Can’t you just tell me what’s going on, luv? I know I’m not good at it, but I’ll listen.”

Then we were wrapped in silence again. I hated it. Ned was always,  _ always _ talking, he hadn’t stopped running his mouth for nine years, yet he chose now to get all shy.

“You have to promise me you won’t get scared off,” His voice came out barely above a whisper, like he was afraid I’d hear him. I stood up straight and did my best to look Ned in the face despite it being obscured by his hair. “It’s…about me kissing you, if we’re being completely honest.”

“I took it too far?” I didn’t really recognize my own voice as it came out, so soft, like the words just slipped out of me without a second thought.

“No! I mean, yes and no.” Ned’s arm reached up to push his hair back, out of his face. “Shit Boyd, I don’t know.”

I want to see him.

“I know it was me who kissed you but I didn’t think…”

I want to see his face.

“I didn’t think it would go that far or feel that…”

I need to see what sort of face he’s making.

“It felt so damn good.”

I need to see him. I took a step closer; he didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s foolish really, I’m a 37-year-old man and here I am day dreaming about a younger man kissing me. I feel like a real idiot.”

One step closer.

“It’s not something I can just talk about Boyd, I’m all mixed up, up here. I don’t want to ruin this thing we have going just because I’m touch starved or…” He trailed off, still didn’t seem to be facing me. “Or worse…I’ve developed some sort of crush on you.”

I was close enough now that even in the darkness I could make out most of his face. His eyes were squeezed shut, like he was bracing himself for me to hit him. He looked so frightened, so unsure of himself, so unlike my Ned.

“Ned…” His eyes opened, and he looked up at me, finally taking note of how close I’d gotten. “Do you really think I’d spend a decade risking my life, risking prison time, listening to you talk about all those shitty old movies,” he laughed at that one, watching him smile and it sent me to the moon, “if I didn’t love you?” My hand raised to cup his cheek, and he flinched away at first, but as it made contact he leaned into it. “Do you think I’d let someone I didn’t love punch me on the side of the road just to make him feel better?”

“That wouldn’t have made me feel better.”

“That’s all you have to say; I’m pouring my heart out and you’re having a bant?”

“I cope with comedy; this is nothing new.”

“Then I’ll be direct. Shut up and kiss me, Ned.” 

He pushed himself to his tip toes, and I leaned down to meet him halfway. It was short and sweet, but electric despite lasting only a second.

“Do you understand now darling? Can I have my Ned Chicane back?”

“Ned ‘Unabashedly Yours’ Chicane, at your service.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments! I love comments!  
> Follow me on tumblr @marshmallow-wagon  
> Follow my beta @lemondrop-pop  
> Expect chapter 3 later tonight, can't promise anything about chapter four.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave comments!  
> Follow me on tumblr @marshmallow-wagon  
> I have a timeline in my head of when everything happened so it makes sense but the amnesty timeline is FUCKED.


End file.
